Things Said vs Things Done
by kluttzy
Summary: Eliot goes to pick up an object at Maggie's. Hardison and Parker comes along. What is said later and what actually went down might be two very different things. Family life has its limitations and the grown up stuff can really mess things up.
1. Chapter 1

**Things **_**Said **_**vs. Things **_**Done**_  
_**  
Things said**_  
_"How are we on props?" said Nate.  
Eliot glanced Hardison's way. Hardison met his eyes, wide eyed but quiet.  
"All done," Eliot muttered._

_**Things done (earlier)**_  
He took care not to seem to care.  
He had protested: "Do I look like the UPS?"  
[Narrowed eyes/snarl.]  
But not too much: "UPS with a side-kick? Great."  
[Big eyes/disbelief.]  
"I'm the Van-man" said Hardison. "You're the side-kick."  
"I'm wearing the cap, see?"  
"I can have a cap, too." Hardison turned to Nate, "Can't I?"

When they left the parking lot Parker jumped onto the wind shield, like there was suction cups on her arms and legs. Maybe there was. Parker had secrets.

Hardison slammed the van came to a halt. Parkers flattened face grinned stupidly on the other side of the glass.  
Eliot was so not in the mood to play.  
"What?" he growled.  
"I'm coming, too."  
She climbed in, and crawled on all four over Eliot to get to the middle spot. She planted a bony knee on his thigh when she passed. It hurt. He'd opted to protect the more sensitive parts, hoping that would be enough. He should have known better.

Parker made herself comfortable. She was like a puppy, turning herself over and around, oblivious to the kicks and pushes she dispensed till satisfied. She sat down and pulled out an UPS-cap from her pocket. She put it on with a pleased sigh. Hardison was happy for the extra company. Figures. The circus was officially on the road.

_**Things said **_  
_Nate raised an eyebrow._  
_Eliot met his eyes. _  
[Blank/deadpan]  
_Silence._  
_"She asked what you needed the fake for," said Hardison.  
"And you said..." Nate prompted.  
"You have a consulting gig cataloging Great Fakes," said Parker, rolling her eyes at the obviousness of the lie.  
"She needs it back Monday," said Eliot, back turned._  
_It did not help. He was a whale in a gold fish bowl, trying not to draw attention to himself. Good luck with that.  
"Why?" said Nate.  
Eliot shrugged.  
"I didn't ask."  
Nate let it hang there long enough for Eliot to begin nursing a hope that would be all. Hope is a bitch._  
_"But she wants you to return it Monday?" said Nate._  
[Slightly raised eyebrows/slow delivery]  
_"No. She said she needs t-h-e p-a-i-n-t-i-n-g back by Monday."_  
[Glare/weariness]  
_"But she did say it to him," said Hardison._  
[Wide eyes/innocence]  
**  
Things done**  
"Hi Eliot," she said when she opened the door. When the entourage became visible behind him, she added, "Hi Parker, Hardison. What's up with the caps?"  
The hallway had great ambiance, or insufficient lighting. There was no way to tell if her smile had changed when it had to include them all.

They stayed close, sardine style. The tiny apartment entrance couldn't contain them otherwise and she was blocking the way to the rest of her nest.  
"You come three people to pick up one little thing?" she said. "You need real jobs."  
"He's doing the actual pick-up." Parker pointed to Eliot. "We're the chaperoonies."  
"There's safety in numbers," said Hardison and smiled.  
Parker smiled.  
Maggie smiled, too.  
"She's really pretty," said Parker to Eliot. "Don't you think so?"  
Once he'd been tortured for two days by six bored Moldavian experience came close, but did not match the level of discomfort Parker could inflict by just opening her mouth. Not quite.  
"Where's the painting?" said Eliot.

Maggie led the way into a small living room, complete with a small couch, a small fire place and no tv. Bookshelves - with books - , and framed real paintings on the walls. All in excellent taste, but nothing worth stealing. He noticed that there were no photos of any family members, past or present. No heirlooms, no _stuff_. Maggie's living room was as personal as a hotel suite.

It was just a pit stop. Maggie opened two doors and they entered a work room. It was by far the biggest in the apartment, with large windows giving plenty of light. There were two desks by the windows, side by side, one for paper work, one empty.

Maggie opened a bottom drawer and pulled out a crinkled Target bag. She lit a lamp by the empty desk. It wasn't necessary, so it was a habit. She spends a lot of time here, he thought.

"You keep an oil painting in a plastic bag?" said Parker. Trapped dampness could destroy the pigments over time. The picture's value could be ruined. Parker did not approve of such carelessness around objects that could be exchanged for real money.  
"It's a fake." said Maggie with a shrug.  
She pulled out a blue bundle from the bag.  
"But I do keep it in my favorite old sweater in the plastic bag." Maggie said.  
"That's nice of you," said Eliot.  
"It's an earnest fake," she said with a smile.

_**Things Said**_  
_"Why does she need it back?" Nate asked Eliot.  
"Ask her."  
He headed for the kitchen. Grumpiness masking hurt feelings that were just hiding a bad conscience for something there was nothing to feel bad about in the first place.  
He needed a life without grifters. Where a bad mood was just a bad mood and nobody cared._ _That would be dandy._

**Things Done**  
"There's types in fakes?" Hardison asked.  
"It better be natural fiber," Parker muttered and reached over to get a feel of the sweater.  
"Of course."  
Maggie removed the sweater. The painting was small, brownish and not an attention seeker.  
"And what makes it an earnest fake?" Hardison wanted to know.  
"The painter didn't do it to fool anyone. He was long gone before his work started to be passed off as authentic Böcklin pieces."  
"No copies?"  
"No. More like amazing tributes."  
"You're saying this here is like a really good Boyz II Men cover band?"  
"If they were doing only their own original songs and sounding exactly like the real thing."  
"They'd have to look like them, too. Like clones," said Hardison with a big grin. Clones made him happy. He'd come of age between episode 1 through 3. George Lucas could do no wrong.  
Parker stepped away from the desk.  
"It's a parallell universe painting? I'm not touching it."

_**Things Said**__  
"I'm asking you."  
Eliot had had enough. He turned to face Nate._  
_He did the whole "Speak softly, carry a big stick"-schtick.  
"No you're not."_

**Things Done**  
Maggie laughed.  
"Maybe it's more like fan fiction," she suggested. "Creative adoration."  
"That shit is nasty," said Hardison upset. "Captain Kirk feeling up Spock? Oprah doing the dirty with the Wizard of Oz."  
"Oprah and Ozzie?" said Parker, her eyes the size of saucers. "Says who?"  
Hardison tried damage control but it was like getting the genie back in the bottle.  
"It's fan fiction," he said sternly. "It's not true."  
"That's what they all say," said Parker, and when Hardison protested, "That's what _you_ say."

Hardison was determined to make Parker promise never to go to there, but she began evasive maneuvers. Fan fiction couldn't be as bad as Hardison said, she argued. And if it was, there must be money to be made.  
Eliot looked at Maggie.  
Maggie looked back.  
The circus act beside them flared up like a bush fire and Eliot was sick and tired of fighting the flames.

"If the art is so good, how come Earnest Faker never made the history books?" Eliot asked.  
"He never showed anyone."  
Eliot leaned on the desk and studied the painting.

There was a desolate hill, looming dark clouds, a small meandering path and a depressing roman looking ruin. Mid 1800's, German Symbolism. Made you want to go kill yourself somewhere quiet. Like in a ruin.

Maggie leaned in, too. She was attractive, but it was the scent of her that got to him. She smelled delicious.

"That, and the fact that it was known he was a great fan of Böcklin's," she continued.  
She smiled a little melancholy smile for the painting.  
"Same period?" he asked.  
She nodded, sad smile lingering.  
"Same region, and the same supplier of materials."  
"Are there more of them?"  
"Hundreds."  
Her hand was so close to his on the desk. He moved a finger and touched hers.  
"The dangers of no tv," he said.  
**  
**_**Things said**__  
"I'm just asking," said Nate, and over the shoulder, to the rest of them, "A bit touchy today, aren't we?"  
You could say that.  
Eliot wasn't going to take the bait. He walked away, but then, when he opened the refrigerator door, he realized he just had._


	2. Chapter 2

**  
Things Done (later, same day)**  
It was a dreary, rainy, Sunday afternoon. Eliot rang the door bell. When he came up Maggie was waiting with the door opened halfway. They looked at each other for a while.

One stupid impulse and here he was. The only easy way out led back to the elevator.

He didn't come bearing gifts. Not that she was expecting any. After thirty everyone has baggage and between the two of them there was baggage enough to fill a storage building. Add on the looming Nate-factor.

Theirs was a case of mutual caution. A thousand things could be said why this was a bad idea, but neither of them were doing much talking. She opened the door and he slipped inside.  
_  
__**Things Said**__  
"That went well," said Nate, who was the designated driver.  
"The trick is not to over cook the prawns," said Eliot.  
It was not what Nate meant, and they both knew it.  
Parker's eyes had a glassy look.  
"What's up? You need a bag?" Hardison was suddenly very concerned. He just had the inside of the van re-carpeted.  
Parker shook her head.  
"Parker needs a barf bag," he hollered, "somebody do something."  
_  
**Things Done**  
She lit the faux flame in the fire place, while he skimmed over the titles on the books on the bookshelves. Mostly older, leather bound editions. He ran his fingers over the books' backs. The titles were too random, like a bag of books from a used book store. But they felt smooth and oddly comforting under his fingers. He guessed that was why the interior decorator had selected them in the first place. The doors to the work room were closed.

The living room seemed less sterile with the fire going.  
"You have no personal stuff," he said. As in, "It's not home, just a place you stay."  
"I'm not much of a collector," she looked at him with a hint of a smile. "Does that make me a hunter?"  
"No."  
She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she smiled for real.  
"I had to see," she said, with a shrug. "I'm done playing Nate's games."  
"I didn't come here to play games."

Maggie sat down on the couch. She swept a hand over the seat beside her. It was free. Eliot took it.  
"So, what do we do?" she asked, resting her head in her hand.  
He grinned.  
"Let's just play."

She raised an eyebrow and her eyes grew full of mischief.  
"How long have we got?" she said with a wry little smile.  
It was his turn to shrug.  
"Maybe an hour."  
She laughed out loud.  
"Ten minutes. Tops," she said.  
"I do know how to lose people."  
"Nate's not people."  
She had a point.  
"Fifteen," he said. "If he's using Hardison."

The couch was comfortably small. There was a nice heat coming from the open fire. They were all alone. The perfect setup.  
"It's awfully cheesy," she whispered. She was so close he felt her breathing the words on his lips. He placed a finger on her mouth.  
"Ssh. No talking while playing."  
She leaned in a little closer.  
"Oops," she whispered, her lips brushing his.  
Simple as that, and Eliot had a new favorite word.

_**Things Said**_  
_Parker kept shaking her head, but slower and slower. All color drained from her face.  
"Stop the car!"  
Nate pulled over. Hardison half helped, half dragged Parker out of the car. She stumbled a few feet, opened a bag and puked.  
They all looked away from the scene.  
Parker wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Hardison made his arm very long so he wouldn't have to step any closer and gave her a wet wipe. She used it and threw it in the bag._  
_"It was the prawns," she said with pain. "They all died alive."_

**Things Done.**  
The doorbell rang.  
"That's not ten minutes," he grumbled.  
"No, that's Nate," she said and rose to open the door on the street level.

Maggie pushed the button and returned to the couch.  
She sat down and leaned her head back, staring up in the ceiling.  
Eliot reached over and slowly touched her hair, face and followed the curve of her neck all the way down to the tiny hollow between the collarbones.  
"Your pulse is beating like butterfly," he said.  
"Bell rang. Play time is over."  
"That's what he thinks," said Eliot. "It's not how I work."

She turned her head to look at him.  
He traced his way back along her neck and the contour of her ear. He moved a stray strand of hair away from her face and used his thumb to erase the frown between her eyebrows. He buried his face in her hair. Like a blind, he followed the line of her jaw with the other hand. His fingers found their way to her lips. He let two fingers stay there, hushing her. He felt her lips part slightly. He felt her breath. When she tried to bite him, his smile brushed her neck.

The door bell rang.  
Eliot raised his head to check in with her.  
"He was too early," she whispered. "We got a few minutes to spare."  
Eliot picked up where he had left off.

There was a perky ping from the elevator.  
A muffled conversation on the other side of the door followed and then a short silence.  
The door bell rang again. This time it wouldn't stop.  
"That must be Parker," said Eliot.  
She raised an eyebrow.  
"I called her," he smiled.

_**Things said**_  
_Parker closed the bag with a one hand grip. She turned around, looking almost normal.  
Parker handed Hardison the barf bag. He took it before realizing his mistake.  
"What? No?" he whined.  
"Tell me that is not the Target bag," said Nate when Parker got back into the van.  
"It's not the target bag," said Parker obediently.  
But the bag in Hardison's hand definitely had a red bullseye blazing against white background.  
__"Oh, great," said Eliot._


End file.
